


Ad Victoriam, Whatever That Means

by t-hy-lla (rivenjolras)



Series: A Bad Spy and a Worse Mercenary [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Dom/sub Undertones, Espionage, M/M, Named Sole Survivor - Freeform, Siding with the Railroad, i overtly hate the Brotherhood so be prepared for that, tags to be updated as it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivenjolras/pseuds/t-hy-lla
Summary: Ritchie decided he liked espionage significantly better after meeting the asshole leading the Brotherhood of Steel. It didn't hurt that pathetic, repressed freaks are his type, either.*runs in the same universe as my other fic, but it isn't necessary to read it*
Relationships: Arthur Maxson/Male Sole Survivor, Deacon/MacCready is mostly in the background, Deacon/Robert Joseph MacCready
Series: A Bad Spy and a Worse Mercenary [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880707
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was up with my partner in crime discussing how I don't understand the part of the fandom that thinks Arthur Maxson is some kind of daddy-dom super sexy type. I decided to "correct" this and show him for the chronically insecure, posturing military type (and VIIIRRRGIIIIINNNN) I know he is. My Sosu is a bit of a dickhead and loves to fuck with people. It just be like that sometimes.
> 
> Just a warning about this being a honeypot fic, which has some consent issues built in to the whole concept.

Ritchie spent a few months running jobs for the Railroad before he put all his cards down on the table. Desdemona was a formidable figure and a difficult one to read. Her bravado and her insistence on everything being on a need-to-know basis gave him very little to go on. After a dozen or so successful missions, he reasoned that she had no ulterior motive for leading the faction at this point, and decided to throw in his lot with the Railroad entirely.

Ritchie approached her as she smoked by the war table. Her demeanor reminded him of one of his old sergeants as a green recruit. She scowled at something in front of her. When she noticed Ritchie, she schooled her expression into something less severe.

“Agent Bullseye.” She acknowledged. “What is it?”

“I have some information to report.” Ritchie said.

“Let’s hear it, then.” She said impatiently.

“It’s sensitive, ma’am.” Ritchie looked around. No one was really in HQ, but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of Doctor Carrington. The man hadn’t been a fan of his in the first place. 

Deacon walked in with him earlier, then decided to inform him that he had “shit to do”. Ritchie had barely been settled when the man slipped out the door. He suspected that Deacon had been roped into one of MacCready’s side _things_ , and left it at that. The three of them had a mutual understanding and he had made a habit not to pry.

Desdemona looked irritated, but motioned for him to follow her into the firing range. The divot in the wall sheltered them from any potential lip-readers. She offered him a cigarette, which he declined with a wave.

“A while ago I helped out an errant Brotherhood patrol holed up in Cambridge.” Ritchie started. Desdemona didn’t look pleased to hear it, but let him continue. “This was before Prydwen even got here, and I knew nothing about them. Long story short, I impressed a Paladin by the name of Danse, and he invited me in on the spot.”

“And what did you say?” Desdemona asked, her expression completely guarded.

“I said I would need to think about it.” Ritchie answered honestly. “I just wanted you to know, ma’am. I don’t intend to accept now that I’m an agent.”

“How comforting. And it only took you months to tell me.” Desdemona said dryly. She sighed. “Be that it may, you have been a phenomenal agent, and I have no reason not to trust you.”

“Thank you.” 

“But...” She continued, “Formally declining the invite would be a waste of a valuable opportunity. Assuming that it is still on the table.”

Ritchie shrugged. “Paladin Danse is probably still in the area. I could convince him. What did you have in mind?”

“Espionage, of course.” Desdemona stated. “Mine whatever data you believe would be useful for us to know. Schematics, intel on the Institute, their movements. As far as I’m concerned, you have free reign with this project.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “I only have one rule: don’t get caught. We cannot afford to extract you if you alert them. You understand.”

“Right. Simple enough.” Ritchie responded sarcastically.

“For you? Maybe it should be.” Desdemona said. “I have high hopes for you, agent.”

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint you, then.” 

“See that you don’t.” Desdemona stressed. “Make contact again with Paladin Danse. Offer to join. Whatever reasoning you give, make sure you sell it. Do whatever initiation they ask of you. Report back as soon as possible.”

“Got it.” Ritchie assented.

“Dismissed, Bullseye.” 

And that was that. 

Paladin Danse was indeed still in Cambridge when Ritchie looked. The man greeted him warmly, his subordinates less so. “It’s good to see you again, civilian. Why are you here?”

“Do you reckon the Brotherhood still has room for one more?” Ritchie asked outright.

Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys exchanged a look of disbelief between the two of them, which Danse appeared not to see.

“Now that Prydwen has entered the Commonwealth, we need all the qualified recruits we can get.”

Ritchie grinned, grateful he didn’t have to lay on the charm this time. “Really?”

“Really.” Danse said seriously. “However, the Brotherhood has a strict code of conduct I expect you to adhere to. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Yes, sir.” Ritchie said.

Danse looked pleased at the response. “I only ask for two things from anyone under my command. Honesty and respect…”

Ritchie tuned him out. Eyes on the prize, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

Unsurprisingly, Paladin Danse didn’t immediately whisk him and the team up to the Prydwen. Luckily, Ritchie was very well acquainted with military-style grunt work. Also, the flight suits were way too damn tight. Ritchie shoved his legs into the orange sausage casing and cursed at how bulky it felt for something that offered so little protection in return. When he asked Knight Rhys if he had to wear it all the time, the man just scowled at him.

It took about a week for him to get on Danse’s good side enough to be invited onto the airship. During the war, Ritchie hadn’t ridden in a lot of Vertibirds- not his division, sadly, but any enjoyment he could have had from the experience was dashed by Danse’s dry style of commentary. Ritchie nodded appropriately like a good little yes man, because that’s what you have to do in the military. Or the pseudo-military, really, he supposed. His old sergeant would weep at what passed for a military organization these days.

Ritchie considered getting threatened by a suspicious superior officer par for the course for a newbie, but all the same put Lancer Captain Kells on his personal shitlist. Of course, he arrived just in time for a ra-ra speech from the leader of this shindig himself. He followed another presumed recruit to the giant windowed room where the address was being held.

The man in charge, Elder Maxson, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, to Ritchie’s shock. He recognized it plainly- when he hit nineteen himself, he loathed his own baby face and sported a beard just like that. Because someone told him beards made you look older. When he hit thirty, he realized that was total bullshit and the person who said that was delusional. 

When Maxson spoke, his posture was rigid, and Ritchie was reminded of rodents in the wild standing on their hind legs to appear more threatening. His coat seemed to be purposefully selected to disguise his frame entirely, a classic for the insecure. But, stupid coat, hair, and beard aside, he wasn’t hard on the eyes. The blue eyes and severe expression were pretty nice, actually.

Ritchie schooled his face when Maxson started in on his anti-synth mission and made a mental note to make sure he would never take Nick Valentine within a mile of the airport. It was one thing to know of this kind of bigotry, but to hear it explicitly laid out turned his stomach a little. It went on much longer than he felt it should- point made, asshole- but what was more disturbing to him was the looks on the other recruits’ faces. They were eating this shit up.

With a rousing ‘Ad Victoriam’, they were dismissed.

Ritchie took in a breath to steel himself, and marched right up to Elder Maxson. He judged immediately that anything other than projecting an air of absolute confidence with only a semblance of polite deference to authority would fail to earn the respect he needed. Maxson’s slight surprise at the bold approach let him know he was completely correct.

“I care about them, you know. The people of the Commonwealth.” Maxson said, unprompted. Ritchie didn’t remember asking.

“I can see that.” Ritchie said neutrally. “They’re playing with fire, and you’re here to save them.” He emphasized the _you_ slightly. He guessed that the man was the self-appointed savior type.

“Exactly. I just hope we’re here in time.” The man responded predictably. _Bingo_. Deacon would have probably said his line about caps, belief, and ego right then if he were here.

“I’m sure that the Brotherhood can make a difference here. Don’t worry, sir.” Ritchie responded- a gamble.

“Hm,” Elder Maxson smiled a little. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, recruit.”

Ritchie flashed his most winning smile back. “Anytime, sir.” 

Elder Maxson seemed momentarily stunned, his mouth open a little, before he remembered himself and continued. _Interesting_. He resolved to repeat that one later.

“I read Paladin Danse’s reports on your progress. He says that you embody the Brotherhood of Steel’s core values. Coming from one of my most respected field officers, you couldn’t get a better recommendation.”

Ritchie suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s assessment of his core values. Elder Maxson didn’t notice.

“Therefore, from this day forward, I am granting you the title of Knight. Befitting that title, you will receive a suit of power armor. Wear it well.”

“I always do.” Ritchie quipped. He stretched subtly, and the material of the flight suit pulled against his pecs. “Thank you, Elder Maxson.”

Maxson stared, then abruptly looked away. “Dismissed.” He said a bit too gruffly. 

When Ritchie left the room, he thought back on the exchange. The Elder was clearly inexperienced, being so young. He was willing to bet that ingratiating himself to him could reap large benefits for the Railroad. He wasn’t sure how malleable Maxson would be, but he never balked in the face of a challenge and wasn’t about to start.


	3. Chapter 3

Ritchie spent the next couple hours meeting people on the Prydwen. He noted the layout and the numbers mentally, as well as the location of anything interesting. Privacy here seemed to be something reserved for the highest ranks, he noted. Anything secretive would be a challenge, although he hadn’t checked the airport itself for anything sensitive. If the Brotherhood were smart, they would keep the majority of anything important off the surface.

The rest of the squad had retreated to the bunk for the night, so he decided to look around. The deck of the Prydwen was relatively quiet. He remembered some kind of recreation/mail terminal he’d passed earlier in one of the lower areas, and went to check if there was anything he could use. He was perusing some outgoing mail from one of the scribes when he noticed someone above him going up the stairs out of the corner of his eye. He recognized that coat.

Ritchie quickly followed, and then slowed his pace behind the wandering Elder. The man turned around, and acknowledged him with a nod. “Good evening, Knight.” He looked tired with large bags under his eyes.

“Good morning, sir.” Ritchie corrected. “It’s late.”

“That it is.” Maxson relaxed his shoulders. 

Ritchie got the feeling he would be subjected to a monologue again. He was right.

“I spend a lot of time wandering Prydwen at night,” Maxson said, “It’s sobering knowing that in the fight for the Commonwealth, some of these beds will end up empty. Of course, every man and woman who signed up with the Brotherhood are aware of the risks- but I’m the one who has to inform their loved ones. Most of the time, I am unsure what to say. The ones with civilian families… the fallen soldier’s honor doesn’t mean anything to them. They just want them to come home.”

“It’s never easy losing a subordinate. I laid awake at night often, wondering if I could have done anything to keep them safe.” Ritchie said. 

Maxson turned fully towards Ritchie and gave him a look of appraisal. “I knew you held yourself like someone with military training. Where did you serve? Are you from around here?”

“I’m from Boston, born and raised, sir. I served in the U.S. Army.”

“How is that possible?” Maxson asked. Curiously, he seemed to believe and trust him immediately.

“Ask Vault-tec. They froze me and my late wife over 200 years ago.” 

Maxson raised his eyebrows. “I see. My condolences.” He leaned against the railing with a thoughtful expression. Ritchie could tell he had something he wanted to say, so he kept silent. After a moment, the man supplied. “That means you were alive Pre-War?”

Ritchie nodded.

“Interesting. It’s good that the Brotherhood has you. I can see we have a lot to learn from each other.” Maxson said. 

Ritchie grinned, catlike. “I’m sure there is a lot I could learn from you specifically, sir.” He stepped forward just enough to bring himself into Maxson’s space, and waited. The bait was laid.

Maxson looked completely frozen. “Knight…” He started, then stopped, clearly unsure what to say. Ritchie doubted the man was ever hit on so brazenly before. He tested the waters by stepping just a little bit closer while he maintained eye contact. The man didn’t look away, entranced. He took that as permission to escalate further.

“It must be difficult leading so many people,” Ritchie said slowly and deliberately, “They look up to you. But they don’t see you.” He reached out tentatively to touch the front of his coat.

“Yes.” Maxson said softly.

Ritchie bracketed the other man in against the railing. He realized with amusement that he easily had almost half a foot and twenty odd pounds on him. He delivered his next line confidently. “I see you, Maxson.”

“Arthur.” He said suddenly. “You can call me Arthur. When we’re alone.” How presumptuous of him, Ritchie thought privately.

“Alright. I see you, _Arthur_.” Ritchie said, stressing the name.

Maxson shuddered upon hearing it. Ritchie figured it had been a long time since anyone had addressed him that way. This was going almost too easily. 

Ritchie leaned forward so that his lips were only about an inch from Maxson’s. He made a show of looking down at them, then back into his eyes. “Invite me to your quarters, Arthur.”

The man gulped visibly. “I. Uh. I’m flattered, really. But I have to get to sleep.”

Ritchie wondered if he misjudged him. “I see.” He straightened up and took a step back. 

Maxson looked panicked for a moment. He grabbed Ritchie’s arm to stop him. “Tomorrow. Midnight. Meet me here.” 

Ritchie chuckled. “Okay.” He used his hand to tilt Maxson’s chin up towards him. “Tomorrow, then.” Before the other man could react, he kissed him softly. The beard was scratchy and his lips were chapped, but all in all, it wasn’t a bad thing. When he pulled back, Maxson was staring in awe.

“Goodnight.” He said after a moment.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

On the way back to his bunk, Ritchie wondered briefly if he could convince him to shave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* we gettin somewhere now


	4. Chapter 4

Early in the morning, Ritchie made up an excuse to Danse about wrapping up some affairs in Goodneighbor. The man wasn’t happy, but allowed him to leave the Prydwen for the day just the same. He wasted no time and headed directly for Railroad HQ.

When he entered through the sewer, he was surprised by Deacon and MacCready in the hallway. Deacon was sitting on one of the mattresses with a comic book. MacCready appeared to be dozing, his head on the other man’s lap. Deacon stroked his hair absently.

Deacon looked up and made a face at the orange flight suit. “I assume your little Brotherhood infiltration was successful. Thanks for waiting up, by the way.”

“Anytime.” Ritchie responded sarcastically. He gestured at him and MacCready. “How was your… thing?”

“Just a few scrapes, no broken bones, and our pockets are several hundred caps heavier.” Deacon said proudly. “So, we’re pretty great, actually.” 

MacCready groaned from his lap. “Shut up, please.”

“Up and at ‘em, RJ. Your second favorite person is here.” Deacon patted his cheek lightly. MacCready sat up sluggishly with a sour look on his face.

Ritchie raised an eyebrow. “R.J.?”

“Only he can call me that.” MacCready said grumpily. He rubbed his eyes. 

“Ooookay.” Ritchie said slowly. “Anyways, Deacon, I’m reporting to Desdemona. You’ll probably want to hear this.”

“Color me intrigued.” Deacon got up. 

“I’m gonna go find some coffee, then.” MacCready got up as well. “Have fun doing whatever it is you do in your secret meetings.” 

Ritchie gave him a thumbs-up.

When he and Deacon rounded the corner, Desdemona intercepted them immediately. “Follow me.” She said curtly. She led them to the room with PAM. The assaultron did not acknowledge them, deep in her own calculations.

Desdemona looked Ritchie up and down. “You convinced the Brotherhood of Steel to let you in quickly. Very well done.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Deacon tells me the leader of the Brotherhood goes by the name Elder Maxson. Did you make contact?”

“Oh, I made contact with him all right.” Ritchie smirked.

Deacon looked shocked. “You sly dog, you didn’t! Did you?”

Desdemona gave Ritchie an incredulous look. “ You got that close to the Elder? This quickly?”

Ritchie nodded. “Yep. I am meeting with him tonight, actually.”

Desdemona sighed. “I really wish you would have told me before proceeding. This significantly ups the risks of the mission.”

“Respectfully, ma’am, I think I can handle it.” Ritchie said. “Elder Maxson seems… incredibly receptive.”

“What’s he like?” Deacon asked curiously. “Is he hot?”

“He’s young and incredibly cocky, complete with a savior complex. He says he wants to save the Commonwealth. He believes the way to do that is to wipe out all synths and the Institute with it.” Ritchie didn’t dignify the second question with a response.

Desdemona’s expression darkened. “So he is more dangerous than we previously thought.”

“Seems so.” 

Desdemona rubbed her forehead. “Okay. This changes some things. Bullseye, I need whatever leverage on the Brotherhood- and by extension Elder Maxson- that you can possibly get. I am authorizing you to obtain it. By Any. Means. Necessary.”

Deacon waggled his eyebrows. Desdemona and Ritchie ignored it.

“Understood, ma’am.” 

“Be careful, agent.” Desdemona said. “And Deacon? You can’t risk being recognized. Under no circumstances are you to approach the Prydwen or the airport.”

“You couldn’t pay me to do that anyway. We are getting paid, right?” Deacon joked.

Desdemona ignored him yet again. “Dismissed, agents.” She left the room to return to her post in front of the war table. Ritchie wasn’t actually sure what she did most of the time.

Right on cue, MacCready appeared, holding two cups of coffee. Deacon’s face split into a wide grin.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” Deacon said. He took his mug gratefully. “You’re a doll, RJ.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “It’s just coffee.” He pushed the second mug into Ritchie’s hands. He seemed to notice what Ritchie was wearing for the first time today. “Any particular reason you’re wearing Brotherhood attire, boss?”

“I joined the Brotherhood of Steel. It’s kind of a thing now.” Ritchie answered. “You know me, I just love wearing orange.”

MacCready screwed up his face in distaste. “I’ll just assume you know what you’re doing. Be careful with those guys. They’re nuts.”

“Thanks.” Ritchie said. “And what will you two be doing with your day?”

“Some murder, some mayhem. Tons of caps.” MacCready deadpanned. “The usual.”

“I’m personally hoping we go light on the murder part.” Deacon gave MacCready a look.

“Eh. I’m sure whoever we meet will have it coming.” MacCready said dismissively.

Rithie laughed and earned himself his own scathing look from Deacon. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you two to it.” 

Deacon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Boss,” He said seriously, “Use protection.”

Ritchie rolled his eyes. “Well, let me wait until the condom factories crop back up. I’m sure it’ll be any day now.”

“Gross, you guys.” MacCready snapped. “Talk about screwing the leader of the tin cans somewhere else, would you?”

“Well then. I guess if you catch anything, you can have our good ol’ Doc fix you up.” Deacon patted Ritchie’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Ritchie drawled sarcastically. “Later, Deacon.”

Deacon left with a wave and led MacCready out with a hand on the small of his back without even a token protest. Ritchie wondered briefly when the fuck _that_ happened, but ultimately decided he didn’t want to know.


End file.
